Somber Haze
by FemurTag
Summary: A young man with the undead curse enters Lordran willingly. He's on a selfless mission, or so he claims. He soon discovers the potential for the undead curse to bring to fruition his wildest imagination yet the price paid is grimmer than death. A vivid account of the undead experience in Lordran with a focus on the undead psyche, suspenseful combat, and exploring what makes a hero.
1. Chapter 1: Rebirth

_Author's Note: Hey, this is my first fan fiction, I hope to make this a pretty long series. I think I'm off to a pretty good start with setting the grim tone of the series and subtly establishing some themes to build off in later installments. Expect some pretty epic and detailed battles, cryptic meanings, entertaining dialogues, and death... lots and lots of death. After all, it's learning through many deaths that players become skilled in Dark Souls. I can only assume the same would apply were one an actual undead fighting seemingly impossible foes. _

Chapter 1: Rebirth

A skull overlaid with leathery, shriveled skin claimed the shade of his shadow. The unnatural appearance of the tortured flesh was offset by the brutal crater where the nose and half of a mouth should have been. The effect was that of a fragmented monstrosity. Having been a monstrosity previously, the weathered face became even more so once _his_ act of furious instincts hid a portion behind it's own bloody contents. Although what was more frightening than the blood was the lack thereof; dust ran through some veins while others still hung on to their true functions.

He had _heard_ the stories, had _asked _for stories, anything thick enough to string along as fact in his nervous anticipation. But looking down at the space a fore his feet, whose soles became imprinted by the cobblestone walkway, he truly understood how alien this world was. Vomiting; the next action that he took, the only one he could muster in that moment. However, he wretched not, save a miniscule effort of bile and saliva. Having gone without any nourishment prior to his otherworldly transit into Lordran, it was to be expected that only the raw agonies of a gag reflex would ensue.

This rationale offered little comfort though, when his mind rapidly ascertained the similarities between his empty stomach and that wicked, fractured, dry, too dry face staring up at him. This unsettling revelation was beset by another upon reflection of the encounter between the naked young man and the sparsely armored soldier of the newly broken face. While the latter being acted first, with pure killing intent, the former being countered with murderous indignation, the kind one experiences when one's life is unjustly threatened. In this respect there was scarce difference between aggressor and defender. Once the ritual of death was initiated, the outcome of such an altercation only lead down one path.

Roles became blurred as soon as the soldier appeared in the darkly lit alleyway. The soldier, with a straight sword raised to hack, took the first step forward, all his mass leaning to his lead knee in the beginning form of a sprint. the young man stooped and rose again in one swift motion, retrieving a jagged stone as he did so. The claustrophobia of the alley amplified as the space between them shrunk. In his blind fury fueled adrenaline he met the soldier's rush with one of his own, back stepping at the last interval before the soldier's weapon could raze a gory chasm down his midsection. The straight sword, having finished its downswing, had rotated 180 degrees in anticipation of its second assault back along the same path. With his balance offset the young man hurled the jagged stone with a determined sort of desperation, lunging backwards simultaneously.

Even as he rolled along the uneven cobblestone underfoot, miniature fragments embedding into his unprotected skin, even as a pointed section of the uneven path bruised his spine during the transfer over his head and to his feet... even then he knew he could win. Miserable wailing could be heard as he rose with another stone in hand. Looking up he verified the damage inflicted. A smile nearly crossed his lips as he saw the soldier miserably gripping its head. It never formed more than a sneer though, as all of his faculties needed to be grounded in the reality of the ritual.

Wasting not a breath more, the young man drove forward, heedless of a frantic lash of sword or feint of injury from the soldier. He was not yet experienced enough in the art of combat and bloodshed to marry tactical approach with killing intent. Yet a lack of tactical approach proved not to be fatal. There was no counter attack from the wailing wraith, only the blunt thud one hears when the other is struck senseless. Pursuing the soldier's descent to the ground, the young man mercilessly followed up his promise to end the ritual on his terms. He struck, over and over, pounding out the most dreadful of beats, one that can only be borne out of oncoming mental slippage. It was not until he had made the crater, with it's curious lack of bodily fluids, did his mind gain traction of his hand, gripping the slightly soiled rock.

Upon heaving up what he could, the young man stripped the soldier of his clothes and armor. Along with the straight sword he now acquired the battle etched breast place of the soldier along with brown leather trousers and boots. The soldier possessed no helmet to cover shoulder length brown hair of the young man. Helmet or not though, the young man felt secure and dangerous. The sword, was perfectly weighted for him as he slashed and stabbed phantom foes of his fantasy. For a warrior, regaining a weapon was akin to growing back a lost limb.

He glanced back down upon the object of his violence, shuddering to think that he had done nothing more than to exchange places with the soldier. He knew the effects of his condition could lead to what one called hollowing. But seeing it with his own eyes struck a fear greater than death. The reality of being a cursed undead was creeping over him now that he had ticked off his first obstacle in Lordran. He began to wonder if perhaps Lordran would become less alien with time. The thought of acclimating to such a place as if it were home made him shudder for his humanity.

He stepped over the still form, on his way to what he was sure was the greater Undead Burg. With only three strides forward he hastily shuffled back upon hearing the miserable gurgle of air being willed through the broken body. In an act of what he considered pity, the young man drove his sword through the heart of the pitiful shriveled remnant. Once true death had been delivered the wispy remains of the soldiers soul escaped the shell. The young man could see the soul as it gravitated towards his body and effortlessly seeped through his breast plate to his heart, where the dark sign lay quietly pulsing in it's own mock heart beat. Once more he heard tales of how the undead could see and absorb souls of those they killed, but truly living the experience was incomparable.

With that, he strode onwards. While lost, his focus was set. He knew what needed to be done, if only in theory. His first destination was a place he knew in name only; the Undead Parish. He had only the vaguest expectations of the hellish journey that lay before him yet his resolution was absolute. His vanity would prove to overwhelm even the fear of death and suffering. And whether borne of vanity or not, the power of the human imagination cannot be contained when life and death merge and lose their meanings...

While the young man had not taken part in food nor drink for two days and two nights, he felt well-nourished and satisfied.

Next Time: Adjusting to new surroundings. Reflecting upon the beauty of isolation. First hand experience. Questing for the bonfire.


	2. Chapter 2: Empty Purpose

_Author's Note: Chapter 2 was becoming too long so I cut it in half because I want the chapter with the upcoming boss(yall know who it is) to be self contained. I hope that I can hear some feedback on what people think of this series so far. Right now I'm really trying to set the tone. But soon there will be fights with familiar bosses and dialogue with mysterious new characters. Also, it's intentional that many questions are unanswered so far, it wouldn't be fun to reveal everything all at once._

Chapter 2: Empty Purpose

Eyes pointing to the cosmos. Gazing on a calm sky of untainted blue. Only the occasional puffs of humble cumulus clouds occupied the weather-scape, offering shady refuge to those who chanced upon it as the sun was high enough still to expose both sides of a stony cottage. A light breeze pervaded the young man's entrance into the greater township, perfectly complimenting the crisp autumn air. But the soft winds were not welcome in this place for they carried with them the fragrances of rot and mold.

The young man surveyed the barren township with only blithe observations. It was apparent the Undead Burg had been a lively place at one point; there were many abandoned crates and dressers scattered about. Obviously trading and socializing had animated the empty platforms at one point. And while the town was suitable as a city center type apparatus, the architecture was well designed to defend against raids. For one, the entirety of the Undead Burg lay spread among sharp cliffs that fell many hundreds of feet to the ravines below. Only poorer looking houses were constructed of wood, everything else from the ground to the stairs and walls were made of thick blocks of dark gray stone. There were many sniper posts among the minaret like towers along with the great border walls, and the stairs were all without railings, and just wide enough for one person to occupy the width. Many areas were not accessible lest one entered through a small room first before branching to alternate paths. Perfect choke and containment points.

Despite premonitions of what lay ahead the young man couldn't help but admire the green tinge overlaying the entire scene. Moss seeped into any weakness it could find amongst stoney niches and was quietly set on the conquest of the rooftops. It brought life, quite literally, to the eroded husk of a town. Something as simple as bits of forest green to offset the oppressive gray brick offered substantial comfort. Hence was the continuation of a lesson the young man began learning shortly before his arrival in Lordran; ample appreciation for the smallest of pleasures. Only in this way could his perception stabilize and allow him to take the next steps forward into promised danger.

The first goal was to find a bonfire. The myrmidon stressed this over and over. It was not simply a matter of having a place to rest, it was about knowing where you'd wake up from death. The myrmidon had let on that the bonfires were enchanted and granted the surrounding areas peace from enemies. Once a weary soul sat at a bonfire they would feel reinvigorated. Of course the myrmidon never let on any more than that since he was rushed for time. The young man suspected that without having rested at a bonfire first, he was liable to wake up just about anywhere after dying, at least as far as he knew. It hurt his head to even think of how the myrmidon calculated where he'd wake up upon entrance to this strange land. How did he know he'd wake up in the Undead Burg and not some other godforsaken corner of Lordran? There was no bonfire, only a pile of ashes in that forlorn alleyway. And even if it mattered not whether the fire was lit, why did he end up at that particular fire?Who tends to the bonfires anyway?

Logistics aside, he was determined to locate a nearby bonfire without dying. Questions could wait until he could speak man to man with the myrmidon in the Undead Parish. He ascended a staircase and rounded a corner. A small clearing lay before him with entrances to storage houses located on either side; two doors per side to be precise. And at the back of the clearing stood a hollow soldier already wielding its battle ax and iron shield.

The young man's presence set off a spark to the hollow's dormant hostility, immediately transfusing its inaction into cruel intent. With sword readied, he greeted the ghastly approach halfway. As the hollow's ax was raised for a downwards assault the young man's straight sword out sped the ax and cut deeply across the wielding shoulder. This reversed the momentum of the ax, yet the hollow presented no further openings as it brought it's shield to the fore just in time to block a counter attack.

The young man knew if he could kick the shield outwards he could strike the hollows neck before it had a chance to counter with its weakened arm. He went for it... Involuntary reaction, flinching wildly backwards as a sword grazed his left arm leaving it in pain, but functional. 'Stunned, the young man searched for the source of this new threat. He looked at each of the entrances in turn, paranoid of another ambush. But too many breaths were wasted, both hollows were drawing him into a corner. The hollow who had injured him struck first. Parried, no time for a counterattack, the other hollow drew in closer. He threw a wild kick into its shield sending the ax wielder backwards a few steps. Then with an equal frenzied effort the young man dove between the two soldiers in the opening he had created.

He was panicking and when he panicked he missed opportunities for counterattacks. He was losing control of any tactical approach he could have enacted. Instead, he charged the hollow who had nicked his arm. He ducked low, gripping his blade with both hands, and rose once more arcing his sword disemboweling the hollow. Blood spurted out, created a fashionable stripe across the young man's breastplate. The hollow was defeated, yet he realized later how careless he had been. Even in death its sword was raised to kill, he was lucky the hollow had not found any last reserves of strength in death to bring its sword down upon his unprotected skull.

Turning, the young man assaulted the remaining hollow with the same animosity. Through a flurry of kicks and wild swings he had opened its guard enough to land a chop at its neck. His aim was poor though. He had angled his sword's trajectory to where it sword stopped partway through the hollows neck and became nestled on its collarbone. He released his sword from its gory slit and swung again, this time completing the decapitation. The head fell first and rolled into a corner, the hollow's ax dropped next, with its shield and body not far behind. Clanks and thuds; the grim sound of victory. No trumpets trumpeting with triumph, no cheering, no compliments. Just some clanks and thuds to give one the peace of mind that their opponent was incapable of further harm. Of course, battles of his past never included the souls of fallen foes enmeshing themselves into his chest where the dark sign waited hungrily. Once more, he felt better afterward.

Careful not to touch the messy separation his sword had made, the young man shook the helmet off of the stray head. It would have to do for now, he thought. It was a standard iron helmet, shielding his entire head, with an open face and nose guard. The hollow's shield was also claimed as the young man knew he would be unable to deflect attacks from larger weapons and projectiles with just a sword. It was a relatively lightweight kite shield with a flat top. It was angled outward with a black cross etched in the center. The bottom of the shield ended in a two-sided point, perfect for staking a grounded foe. A dim feeling of invincibility bubbled up from within. Feeling wary of his own ego, the young man shook his head and moved forth.

The general design of the Undead Burg was one of gradual ascension and usually there was only one stair case that lead up to higher platforms. The purpose of this was no doubt to limit options of attack during a siege. This gave the young man confidence that he was going in the correct direction. Along the way he checked each room for enemies or a bonfire. The sense of alienation crept back into his psyche. Every room, every wall, every stairwell and option for advancement; they were all purposefully designed for defense. But who needed defending? The thought of having so much potential with no genuine reason to apply it was particularly depressing to the young man. Perhaps...

He pushed the thought out of his head upon reaching an open platform. It was quite wide, and had multiple wooden barricades stationed on the far end. His attention immediately queued in on the crossbow wielding sniper on a watch post just up a short staircase from the platform. He advanced at a moderate pace with shield raised to the fore leaving just enough of his face uncovered to keep an eye on the incoming bolts. The bolts came at intervals of two and a half seconds. He had been trained early on in combat training to count such things just in case...

Two hollow soldiers rushed out from behind the wooden barricades. Both were wielding swords and helmets like his own yet were without body armor or shields. They approached from opposite angles, leaving a clear line for the sniper's input. The young man blocked the left hollow's leaping overhead strike, countering with a side swipe at its kidneys. As soon as his attack connected his sword shot back towards the other attack before it could even launch its sluggish assault. He managed to deflect the hollow's sword back to its source yet his heart jumped as he did so. He had forgotten about the sniper.

All in one moment. A sharp intake of breath. Realization followed by regret. A bolt stuck half way out of his left shoulder, a crude new appendage. Fear set in, fear of failing, fear of suffering, high terror. Then focus. A wave of warm calm swept into view. Only a mind for the present. He was nothing more than what he was then and there. He struck again.

_Next Time: The young man brushes up against death. Seasons of doubt take place. Becoming acquainted with the distortion mechanics of Lordran. An imposingly huge warrior awaits before the final obstacle._


	3. Chapter 3: Doubts And Dreams

_Author's Note: Hey peoples! This chapter has been horribly delayed due to finishing up 10 months of backpacking and freerunning through Asia along with trying to find a job since I've been back. I have also been reconsidering the direction I want to take this series. But now I'm back to writing and I'm already pretty far into chapter 4 which will feature the first dialogue and the first boss fight. So I hope you enjoy!_

Chapter 3: Doubts and Dreams

The young man followed up his attack on the hollow after deflecting its sword, having only paused for a split second when he was pierced with the bolt. He own sword lashed out with the severity of a pressured cobra, managing to sever the jugular. Blood siphoned out in a rapid instantaneous spurt leaving the hollow standing limply. He brought the shield up just in time to deflect another bolt and a thrust from the other hollow. Crouching, he stabbed the hollow once more in the kidney remembering to position his shield to block the persistent sniper. Then in synchornized motion, the young man lowered his shield and raised his straight sword to finish off his immediate attacker, yelping in surprise as he was sliced down his back in a tingly lumbar explosion. Satisfied with its last stand, the hollow collapsed, the last of it's blood filtering out of its throat. It was only through clenched eyes that the young man saw a third soldier descend from the sniper tower to join the fray.

For what may as well have been hours the young man exchanged blows with the two hollows while bringing his shield up to block the periodic bolts from the sniper. With every drop of blood that escaped him, the young man's strength dwindled. Yet his enemies had sustained wounds of their own, and with every passing moment, all three warriors were losing power. During these frantic moments the young man began to take advantage of his enemies as cover from projectiles. Due to this he found the bolts losing their regular intervals as the sniper attempted to trace its aim around its comrades.

Second by second, with every strike traded, the scales of war tipped in his favor. Inflamed muscles in his back roared, his injured shoulder gasped for relief from shield duty. By all means he should not have possessed any particular advantage over the pruney, insane soldiers. Yet he held, deep inside, something that thoughtless monsters in all their blind fury knew not. He was a beast no more. He possessed the inner calm. It radiated from within the young man yet again, giving his resolve strength over his wounds. Doubt departed him, bringing to life what was focused so clearly in his mind's eye. Time flashed by with the vivid disjunction of a dream; each hollow slayed without a second more wasted, the stairs were descended, the sniper shoved to the distant river beds far below the Undead Burg.

Time, ruffled from it's broken demeanor, started anew in an effort to reassert it's dominance. The still frames of his perception sped up and returned to their standard fluidity bringing the young man's attention back to the gains of his battle. As this returned, so did the hold his injuries had over his muscles, seemingly constricting his movement in barbed wire, giving every action an unpleasant anticipation. Atop the sniper tower he stood inept, pondering the consequences of pressing forward. However this lasted for only a minute as an unearthly gleam drew him to the entrance of what appeared to be a storage house. 'Bonfire ahead' written in glowing orange letters overlaid the gray brick. The young man scoffed in disbelief, finding humor in such an absurdly convenient message. But in his desperate desire for relief, the young man entered the threshold, accepting the possibility of the message being a trap.

There was no ambush, just emptiness. So far Lordran had been a duality of one or the other, the difference this time being the hypnotic draw of a dimly lit fire, perfectly aligned with the center of the otherwise dark, cavernous room. The glow just barely crisped the edges of the wooden crates bordering the room, aesthetically enlarging its size by giving the walls a veil of darkness to hide behind. The young man was beside at the fire in several deft strides despite the howling of the wounds he had freshly procured. He sensed a pang of disappointment attempt to root itself in mockery of such a humble flame, but it never took hold. The young man knew this fire was special. He knew this because for the first time since entering Lordran he did not feel lost.

Knowing not else to do, the young man sat down, setting his perception among the flames. Hallucinations befell him. Back in the alley way he was wielding a rock against the hollow soldier, then wandering, diving between his two attackers, pierced with a bolt, cut down the back, tossing the sniper into the depths, sitting down at the bonfire. With that, the visions ceased as he was beckoned back to the present moment. His wounds were healed, his body felt fresh, even the desire to nod off had departed him. Only the imprints of the last hours' events weighed him down.

Yet the weight was not enough to cause more than a minor discomfort as the young man faced his back to the low flickering light. A sliver of invincibility was sliding itself between his ribs, puncturing his heart and birthing an excitement for future glory. With memories of that day's pains already receding to the deep end of his attention, the young man set off. What drove him on could only be considered naivety. His willing ignorance of what lay ahead stemmed from a fear festering within his subconscious. A fear that what he wouldn't be strong enough...

A fear that was pushed aside when the young man went charging across a short stone bridge with blasts of fire blossoming into rose shaped plumes as thrown projectiles exploded beside him. The heat licked his shoulder blades which were level with the top railing as he ran, stooped, to the room ahead of him for cover. Upon entrance to the room he skidded to a dead halt a few paces in, his legs giving a slight bend as he readied his shield for the imminent lunge delivered by the first of two ax wielding soldiers. The vicious attack sent sparks down the length of his shield as the young man's own weapon readied a sweep across the hollow's gut. By all means it was a well calculated counterstrike which would have given him time to react to the second hollow. But his math was off, he had failed to survey the entire room.

The young man's blade snapped back mid-swing, exhibiting a wild reactionary whip lash. A scarlet sword pointed through then away from his chest. He was unable to emit more than a blood soaked gurgle in response. His arms froze in a poorly positioned battle stance while his knees were seeking desperate salvation from being locked erect. This nightmarish helplessness staged the climax as the ax wielding wraiths of purgatory hammered down upon the young man, opening gory fissures in his torso.

And that was all he saw as the young man opened his eyes. He was back at the bonfire, sitting beside it with legs casually crossed before him. Did he die? 'What does death even mean when you're undead?', thought the young man grimly. His first death was an awful experience. The temptation loomed clearly before him to blow it all off as nothing but a dream while avoiding any such scenario that could unfold in a similar manner. His ego grasped at such an instantaneous solution that could gratify the bonds his fear of death held over him. Yet he couldn't lie to himself. Not this time.  
>It wasn't because the young man was a particular zealot of the truth, he had lied to himself on several occasions. Rather, he had met his quota lately for such cowardly tactics- a rather large incident in particular could be thanked for that. It was an incident that would ruin him should he stand eye to eye with it. No! He would not allow the lie to emerge from the tunnels of his subconscious, yet he knew it was there, quietly burrowing fresh tunnels with the anticipation of resurfacing one day. The young man feared that disillusioning himself anymore would have the opposite effect of clearing his conscience. This fear was greater than his fear of dying once more, greater also than his fear of being too weak. Because of this he was able to face the latter fears, accepting his previous death as truth and vowing to become stronger and wiser from the experience.<p>

Striding once more towards the bridge he had just charged across, the young man stopped abruptly. In his previous haste he had failed to notice a detail whose implications carried with it a grievous notion. The hollow on the sniper tower was alive. With closer inspection, the young man noticed the other three hollows crouching behind the wooden barricades in anticipation of the next unlucky recipient of such ill welcoming. The young man formed an assumption right then and there, which he later found to be incorrect yet not entirely inaccurate.. He figured that his enemies must be resurrected when resting at a bonfire. Perhaps it was the same force that brought him back to life that also gave it back to his fallen foes. Regardless of the particular mechanics of such an unnatural process he felt in the pit of his stomach that this was more than a dangerous journey. It was a trial.

The young man's imagination seeped over his vision. His eyes gazed not on the murky drudgery of the Undead Burgs moss ridden structures but on the replicated kingdom of Anor Londo, forged from vivid tales heard in childhood. He saw himself adorned in white armor with gold trimmings. He wielded a massive claymore in one hand and a great shield in his other. He was engaged in a duel with several nondescript giants, nimbly rolling beneath their axes and clubs, slicing at their tendons and legs in glorious sweeps as he dashed between them. Occasionally his armor would be grazed and send him tumbling, but this touch of realism made the young man's fantasy all the sweeter. This realism caused his mind to salivate with the thought of how possible it was to temper this wild dream into waking life.

This mental pep rally spurred the young man to transgress the bridge yet again. Sprinting by the parade of fire bombs thrown by cowardly spectators, he took cover within the doorway, baiting the first of the two ax wielding hollows. It leaped at him as expected. By advancing upon the young man, the first hollow had blocked the rest of the doorway, preventing the young man from being flanked. By the time the sword wielder who had slain him made an appearance, it had no choice but to stand ready as the young man finished off his initial aggressor. And he did. One by one the young man ended their assaults with more blood on his sword. Acknowledging the newly emptied space for only seconds, the young man swiftly resumed his ascent up the Undead Burg. He was going to become stronger. He thought his determination was set in steel. But soon enough his fantasy would lock horns with the impossibly fierce reality of Lordran.

Next Time: Easing evermore into the death game. A towering monster hunter with harsh judgment. A foe too powerful for mortal man.


End file.
